


Drop

by PunkHazard



Series: Synaesthesia [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: “I didn’t know they were still producing these,” Lúcio comments, taking several seconds to pry up the metal stopper and shake a piece of the hard candy into his palm.





	Drop

After six weeks in Tokyo on tour with the first new generation of MEKA recruits, Hana lobs a small, red tin at Lúcio’s head upon her return to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. “I couldn’t figure out what to get you,” she calls to him, “but you cried like a baby when we watched Grave of the Fireflies! I saw these and had to get them.”

Lúcio snatches the Sakuma Drops out of the air, then shakes the container to loosen the candies inside as Genji leans in for a better look. Hana’s already on her way into the canteen with a bulging sack slung over her shoulder, no doubt full of souvenirs for other agents. 

“I didn’t know they were still producing these,” Lúcio comments, taking several seconds to pry up the metal stopper and shake a drop into his palm. He extends the tin to Genji (more out of politeness than any expectation that the cyborg would accept), and doesn’t press further when he waves away the offer.

Starting with a green candy, Lúcio pops it straight into his mouth as he and Genji walk to his room, taking the distance at a leisurely pace. They’d just finished a morning of training sims, then gone to the hangar to greet Hana; plenty of time and nothing to do until dinner. 

“Your reactions,” Genji tells him, “are getting faster. Less second-guessing.” 

“All those drills you make me do,” Lúcio retorts. There’s only mild exasperation in his voice, at Genji’s insistence that he repeat the same maneuver at least a dozen times before allowing him to move on to another one. The idea of building muscle memory is hardly new to him, having had years of practice in capoeira, but he’d thought that there was a small chance Overwatch wouldn’t demand the same level of tedious repetition.

(‘The joke,’ Genji had told him once, seeming to delight in the idea, ‘is on you. Overwatch is nothing _but_ tedious.’)

“A wise man,” counters Genji, “once said that he does not fear the man who practices a thousand kicks once, but the man who practices one kick a thousand times.”

Lúcio mulls that over as they approach the dormitory wing, trying to figure out which of Genji’s favorite philosophers that quote might have originated from. “Did Musashi say that?” he asks, idly shifting the half-dissolved candy to the other side of his mouth.

“Bruce Lee.”

“You guys are obsessed with him.”

“It’s not _obsession_ ,” Genji says, punching in the code to Lúcio’s room and letting them both in, “it’s respect.”

“Yeah,” Lúcio snickers, crunching down the last sliver of his Sakuma drop, “I’m gonna take a shower. Let’s see if Hana wants to go out for lunch. Zenyatta too?”

“I will ask.”

Lúcio waits in front of the doorway for Genji to remove his visor and lean down, exchanging a quick, routine peck on the lips before they separate. 

What he doesn’t expect is Genji’s pause as he pulls away, the slow register of something in his expression, and the gentle pull back into a deeper, slower kiss. Genji licks his way into Lúcio’s mouth as the smaller man’s arms curl around his neck, hands firm on his hips as he chases the lingering sweetness of the candy that Lúcio had just finished, tongue sliding along his back teeth until all Lúcio can taste is Genji.

“Melon?” Genji asks, murmuring the question against Lúcio’s lips.

“Green apple,” Lúcio whispers back, trying to catch his breath.

Genji straightens, lets him go. He flashes Lúcio a wry smile, a small acknowledgement of his mistake. His sense of smell has been almost nonexistent since cyberization, nerve endings in his nose badly damaged— the result being an altered, dulled sense of taste. It had caused him no end of grief in the beginning, but lately Genji’s been trying to at least enjoy a few of the flavors that he used to. “Next time,” he says.

* * *

Lúcio looks away from his monitor at two in the morning, yawning to stretch his jaw after absent-mindedly sucking on the candies for well over an hour. He swivels around in the chair to regard his bed, the lump that Genji makes nestled under the covers, and grins. 

It takes nearly a minute of silently fidgeting with the tin to extract a single drop, and Lúcio turns back to his monitor to save and shut off while he wears it down. By the time he’s mostly done with the candy Genji’s shifted, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other tucked under his pillow. Under most circumstances, it’s nearly impossible to sneak up even on a sleeping Genji— but he’s taken to letting his guard down around Lúcio, giving in to his most indulgent impulses around the younger man.

Leaving the desk light on, Lúcio shuffles to the bed and sits at its edge. He gently moves Genji’s arm away from his face, chuckling at the lazy, blind reach toward him. Lúcio leans in, pressing a sticky, close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Genji’s mouth. The cyborg cracks one eye open and catches the hem of Lúcio’s shirt before he can stand back up.

He pulls Lúcio insistently down, hands shifting slowly but inexorably toward the small of his back and holding him in place. Lúcio laughs, trying to hold still while Genji tentatively tastes the sweet, makeshift candy gloss he’d rubbed over his bottom lip and then, with no hesitation at all, licks it clean. 

That alone is enough for Lúcio to call his little experiment a resounding success, but Genji makes a petulant, unhappy sound when he tries to move away. Lúcio snorts, obligingly allowing Genji to pull him back in.

This time, Genji releases him, the last bit of candy clenched between his teeth, cheekily claimed from Lúcio’s mouth.

“Melon?” Genji asks, sitting up.

“Lemon,” Lúcio tells him, brushing a fringe of hair out of Genji’s eyes and raking his fingers across his scalp. “You keep guessing melon!”

Crushing it between his back teeth, Genji sighs. “It’s got to be melon _eventually_. Just statistics.”

That nets him a laugh, an affectionate pat on his cheek. “Not even remotely how it works.”

Genji looks at him, bleary-eyed and hazy. “Next time,” he says.

* * *

It only takes about three days for Lúcio to just about finish the tin of Sakuma drops; he keeps it on hand, offers it to teammates and eats them when he’s bored. If Hana had predicted one thing right, it’s his sweet tooth. 

Genji hadn’t correctly guessed a flavor once in any of the half-dozen or so times they’d played their impromptu game, and as much as he didn’t seem to mind, he also hadn’t seemed very interested in continuing. The thoughtful silences after a wrong answer would get longer, and Lúcio didn’t particularly like the idea of rubbing in Genji’s face yet another thing that being a cyborg deprives him of.

He’s on the last of the candies, whittling it down to nothing while he waits for Genji to wrap up practice with McCree, the latter locked in a brutal arm-bar, face down on the mat. Jesse taps out after nearly a minute of trying to twist free— more patience and stamina than Lúcio had ever managed to sustain against Genji.

When they finally disengage, Genji rolls easily to his feet, fist-bumps McCree and promptly leaves him sitting alone on the mat to make his way to Lúcio. He disengages his visor, pale cheeks flushed from his victory, and steals a kiss. He uses the mask to hide his face from Jesse, and smiles at Lúcio behind it.

“What was that for?” Lúcio asks, grinning

Genji nudges the empty tin. “That was the last one?”

“Yeah.”

“Grape,” Genji says, his eyes wide.

“You could tell?” Lúcio whispers back, hopeful.

Genji kisses him again, this time quick and light on the cheek. He pulls away, laughing as he replaces the visor. “Your tongue is purple.”


End file.
